


(let you) be the boss of me

by slumberfish



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Choking, Closet Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slapping, Spit Kink, but acts are fully consensual and implied to be negotiated offscreen, slightest mention of potential dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 23:16:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slumberfish/pseuds/slumberfish
Summary: Mark's energy runs high before performing; Yuta knows everything Mark wants.





	(let you) be the boss of me

**Author's Note:**

> heed the tags, don't keep scrolling if this will upset you.
> 
> thanks to anyone and everyone who encouraged me to write the yumark fic i wanted to see in the world.
> 
> Translation into [Russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8700015/22218482) available, thanks to [@staticinradio](https://twitter.com/staticinradio)  
> 

The thing is that, sometimes, Mark gets nervous. It manifests itself physically; the up and down jiggle of his leg, the anxious wringing of his hands, how he just needs to  _ move _ . Most of the members know how to deal with it at this point and Mark’s energy just glides right over them. They don’t even look up as he paces around the waiting room, laughing too loudly at things that aren’t actually that funny, and antagonizing members still getting their hair and makeup done.

There’s some vague self-awareness, guilt that he might be annoying the people around him, but it’s lost in the cacophony of his own mind. No matter how many times they perform, he gets like this, restless. The pressure is enormous and the possibility of  _ not enough _ is too real. At least orbiting their dressing rooms gives him something to do.

A vicious tug on the back of Mark’s shirt pulls the collar against his windpipe, choking him and jerking him back. Mark coughs, and whips around.

“What the —” It’s Yuta who’s got a hold on him, fist tight in the back of his shirt. He uses the hold to yank Mark back and he stumbles, crashing into Yuta’s chest. “What are you  _ doing?!” _

Their group members seem otherwise preoccupied with their phones or each other. They don’t notice Yuta pressed up against Mark’s back, nosing along the line of his neck. They don’t hear him whisper in Mark’s ear and then release him with a hard shove. Mark staggers forward as Yuta turns on his heel, slipping between stylists and out the dressing room door.

Mark’s heart is hammering in his chest at the thrill of playing this game in front of everyone. He waits a moment, tries not to look too conspicuous, before ducking out to follow Yuta.

There are various backstage staff members traversing the hallways but they don’t pay Mark any mind beyond a cursory glance. He catches a glimpse of red hair at the other end of the hall, a fleeting impression, before it turns out of sight. Mark all but runs after it.

He rounds the corner and almost crashes into Yuta who’s standing there waiting— _ for me,  _ Mark thinks to himself—one hand on a doorknob. The door opens inward and Yuta all but throws Mark into the closet first, following, and snapping the door shut behind them. 

“Is this a closet? Gross,” Mark says, disoriented. His eyes are taking a moment to adjust to the darkness, and he blindly grasps at nothing. He doesn’t need to see, though, just feel Yuta’s hands sliding up his sides, pressing him back against some kind of utility closet based on the coolness of the metal and the handle digging into his lower back. 

Yuta presses flush against him without preamble, hips bumping together and pulling Mark into a wet, open mouthed kiss. Mark pulls away first, turning his head to the side.

“Aren’t you being too obvious? What if someone saw—”

_ Crack. _

Yuta strikes him across the cheek, and Mark lets out a hot, shuddering breath. Even in the dimness, Yuta’s gaze is intense and sparkling with danger.

“You need to learn how to shut the fuck up, Mark,” Yuta says lowly, running his fingers back over Mark’s stinging flesh. “Always moving, always talking. Always running your mouth.” Yuta punctuates his sentence by wrapping his fingers around Mark’s neck. Not too tight, not yet, just a hot weight against his neck and a promise of what’s to come.

Still, Mark lets his mouth fall open, this tongue resting against his bottom lip. Yuta applies the barest bit of pressure on either side of his neck and tears start welling in the corners of Mark’s eyes.

“Gonna… gonna make me? Shut up?” he pants. He feels Yuta twitch hard against him. They do this for Mark, but that doesn’t mean it’s one-sided. Yuta grabs his chin with his free hand and slides his thumb into Mark’s mouth, presses down against his tongue  _ hard _ . 

“Yeah, I can think of better uses for this mouth,” Yuta muses, turning Mark’s face to the side. Mark thinks about sliding to his knees in this dark closet with his mouth hanging open, hot and wet for Yuta to use as he likes. He arches toward Yuta, groaning, and rubbing himself against his thigh with subtle movements of his hips. “But you’d like that too much, wouldn’t you?”

Mark doesn’t get the chance to respond, even though Yuta’s removed the fingers he had crammed in his mouth to make quick work of opening his pants. Mark’s been half-hard since Yuta grabbed him in the dressing room, and he shakes as Yuta teases him through the fabric of his underwear. 

Mark swallows down whimpering noises, even though the hot drag of cotton against the head of his cock burns sweetly. Any noise he elicits is an invitation for Yuta to strike him again, and as much as the sharp pain translates into forbidden arousal, he really wants to come quickly.

“You usually make so much noise, Mark. What’s wrong? Isn’t this what you think about when you’re alone?” Mark can’t help the strangled whimper and the way his body jerks forward when Yuta whispers that. The thought of Yuta listening in on him getting himself off, in bed, in the shower, is too much to bear considering. “It’s usually wetter when you fuck yourself though, right? Should we make you wet?”

Mark nods profusely, looking up at Yuta with wide eyes. He’s not sure what’s happening at first; Yuta’s still stroking the head of his cock maddeningly slowly through his briefs, and his other hand flies up to squeeze Mark’s cheeks together, forcing his mouth open and tilting his jaw up. It’s when he hears a soft squelching noise that he realizes—Yuta’s dripping a huge glob of spit into Mark’s moth. It’s hot, tastes vaguely sweet, like Yuta was drinking a soft drink back in the dressing room. 

“Spit,” Yuta commands, holding his hand in front of Mark’s face. It’s humiliating, but Mark lets the mix of his and Yuta’s spit dribble out, pooling in Yuta’s outstretched palm. “Good, stop.”

There’s still a string of saliva running down Mark’s chin, but Yuta’s pulling his dick out now, covering the head with his hand and using their spit to slick the way. He rubbed the sensitive spot right under the head of his cock in small, tight, rhythmic circles. Mark cries out and jerks up, grabbing Yuta’s shoulders. His hips stutter, like he’s not sure if he wants to try to fuck up against Yuta’s hand or pull away completely.

“Please, Yuta, want it, need you,” Mark babbles, squirming hard between Yuta’s looming presence and the metal locker behind him. Yuta slaps a hand over Mark’s mouth, never missing a beat as he rubs spit and precome into Mark’s cockhead, flicking a fingernail over the slit.

The hand over his mouth makes Mark breathe heavily through his nose, muffling his strained whimpers. It sounds like Mark’s struggling, like he doesn’t want this, but he does. It’s embarrassing how wet he’s getting so quickly, dripping into Yuta’s hand. There’s no way Yuta can’t feel it, how close he is, overstimulated by nerves and arousal and restricted oxygen intake.

“Wow, you really like this, don’t you?” Yuta says teasingly. Mark knows he pretends not to care, but Yuta looks flushed and a little wild, just as hard as Mark is. “Too bad no one can see you like this. What would the members think? Our fans? If they saw how gross you are?” It’s impossible, incomprehensible—they’re  _ careful— _ but Mark’s struck by the shame of thousands of their fans knowing how easily he spreads his legs for Yuta in the most disgusting of places, and it pushes him over the edge. He spurts wet streaks all over Yuta’s hand that never stops moving, still rubbing him steadily through his orgasm, until Mark’s pushing him away out of painful discomfort. 

He’s slumped up against the utility closet, heaving in deep breaths to lift the lightheadedness. “Are you okay?” Yuta asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Mark looks up at him through wet, clumped lashes and smiles.

“Yeah,” he answers breathily, tucking himself back in and zipping his pants up. “Want me to suck you off now?” Mark gestures to where the outline of Yuta’s cock is still hard and visible against the line of his tailored pants. Yuta shakes his head.

“We’ve been gone too long already, you go back first.”

Mark frowns, but understands how imperative it is that they stagger their reentrances. “I’ll make it up to you. Tonight, if you want.” Yuta laughs at that.

“Just go. I’ll be there in a minute.”

-

Their performance is flawless. Mark feels cool and levelheaded, confident and in the zone. His dancing is smooth, he’s on beat for all of his verses. The smile he flashes the cameras is authentic and he knows when he goes back to analyze tonight’s show, he’s going to be satisfied.

He catches Yuta’s gaze once, as they cross the stage. Yuta’s eyes darken and his lips quirk up in a smile and then they’re in formation for the next section of choreography. Mark doesn’t think about him for the rest of the song.

-

Mark’s making it up to Yuta. He’s got Yuta on his back while he rides him, hands curled into fists and braced on Yuta’s chest so he can fuck himself back on his cock. They don’t get as many opportunities to spend like this, but this is the kind of sex Yuta really likes: intimate, lazy, being able to pull Mark’s head back by his hair and watch his eyes flutter closed.

“Mark?”

“Hm?” Mark peers down at Yuta with heavy lidded eyes, still steadily dropping himself up and down. 

Yuta doesn’t say anything for a few beats, just looks up into Mark’s eyes. It makes him flush, feel hot across his cheeks and down the back of his neck. “You’ll let me know if it’s ever too much, right?”

That’s what makes Mark stutter, seating himself flush against Yuta’s hips and pausing. “Of course I would. You, uh, take really good care of me though,” he says the last part quickly, embarrassed. Yuta flashes him an impossibly wide smile.

“Mark?”

“Yeah?”

Yuta keeps smiling, saying nothing. He runs a hand up through Mark’s hair, pushing his bangs back. Something deep and forbidden twists in Mark’s chest. He clenches hard around Yuta, feels him throbbing deep inside.

“Stop, I know. Yuta, I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!  
>    
> (ps mark knows yuta l*ves him)
> 
> [kpop twt](https://twitter.com/yutasword) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/yutasword)


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